


He Woke Me Up Again

by artsyUnderstudy



Series: Paint and Ink [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Artist Castiel, Emotional Sex, Established Relationship, Falling In Love, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Minor Angst, Minor Injuries, Rimming, Switching, Tattoo Artist Dean, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 17:08:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1122368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artsyUnderstudy/pseuds/artsyUnderstudy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is injured at the studio, giving him and Dean time to work through their newly forming relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Woke Me Up Again

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't read the [first of the series](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1102168), I highly suggest it so you know backstory.

_But I'm still asleep_  
 _And you woke me up again_  
 _And I'm still asleep_  
 _But you woke me up to be holy_

-Sufjan Stevens

\--

Castiel loved the studio. He loved the atmosphere, loved the paint splattered spaces, dried bits of plaster or ceramic, walls covered ceiling to floor in paintings and drawings.  He loved the half-finished sculptures sitting in the middle of the hall, surrounded by dirty newspaper and dried wood glue.  There was a beautiful chaos to it, surrounded completely by color, and life, and the passion of creation.

Dean’s tattoo parlor, though.  That was something he found he loved just as much. 

Castiel stood outside and stretched a hand toward the half-painted concrete wall, dragged his fingers along the dried colors, watched Dean grinning as he greeted people through the windows. 

Dean was in his element here, all easy smiles and a knack for small talk and banter, a well of stories to choose from to keep his waiting customers happy and entertained.  Dean said this had always been a family business, and so he liked to treat his customers like family.

Castiel tugged his jacket closed, breathed out into the chilly air of early spring.  He caught Dean’s eye before dropping to his knees to pick up his excess paints and brushes, the concrete around them splattered with warm, vibrant blues and yellows, the sun low and warming his cheek.  The sound of the door opening a few seconds later warmed him more.

“Looks amazing, Cas.”

Dean’s body was close when Castiel stood back up, supplies gathered up like an infant, cradled in his arms.  Dean reached over to take some of it from him, freeing up one of his hands so Dean could lace their fingers together, thumb brushing sweetly over his skin.

Castiel pulled Dean’s hand up toward his chest, pressed to his heart, let him feel it beating through his jacket.

“It’s coming along slowly,” Castiel eventually answered, frowning.

“I love it, and I’m not the only one.  Had a few starry-eyed customers asking about you,” Dean smiled, a possessive look flashing in his eyes as he looked him up and down.  Reaching up, hands still entwined,  Dean brushed a thumb over Castiel’s cheek.  “The hell did you get paint on your face?” Dean asked, presenting his blue thumb as evidence.

Castiel hummed, examining the pigment carefully before pushing their hands toward Dean’s face.  Dean stared at him, a look of resignation and slight frustration, as his own paint covered thumb was pressed against his cheek, Castiel guiding it in a line down toward his jaw.  Castiel examined his work, the blue stark against Dean’s lightly freckled skin.

“Have you ever thought about getting a tattoo on your face?” Castiel asked, eyes darting down toward Dean’s neck where the edge of a tattoo peeked out from under his shirt collar.

“No way,” Dean grinned.  Castiel shrugged.

“I have to go.  I need to put more time into my work at the studio,” Castiel finally said, eyes down toward the pavement before Dean nudged his chin up with his knuckle, thumb brushing along the dip beneath his lower lip, most likely leaving a blue thumbprint in it's wake.  Castiel wound his free hand into the collar of Dean’s jacket.

“You’re there almost six hours a day, anyway.  At the fuckin’ minimum.” Dean said, frowning back. 

Castiel looked at him for a moment before pulling them both back against an empty spot on the wall, obscuring them from the view of the people inside the shop.  Dean boxed him in, the supplies pressed between them, breath warm across Castiel's cheek.

“It takes time, you know that,” Castiel told him, laying a small kiss at the edge of Dean’s mouth.

“Yeah, dude, but I still get breaks.  You have months before the exhibition, and you’re already finished painting most of the casts we made.”  Dean pressed a kiss to his jaw, then his neck, lips lingering against his skin.  “I get outta here in an hour.  Come home with me.”

“I can’t.”

“Yeah, you can.  You just won’t,” Dean said, softly.  A little sadly.  It made Castiel’s chest hurt.  Dean moved his hand to cup his cheek, heel of his palm pressed against Castiel’s pulse.  Then he kissed him on the mouth, a soft, wanting brush of lips that left Castiel craving more when they finally parted.  “I’ll see ya later, Cas.”

“Yes, alright,” Castiel replied, Dean handing him back the rest of his supplies before heading into the parlor.  Before he disappeared from sight, Castiel caught him wiping away the paint on his cheek with the sleeve of his jacket.

Castiel stood there for a full minute before he finally made his way back toward the school.

\--

Castiel was in shock. 

At least, he had to be, it made sense, because there was a deep gash across the palm of his right hand and he barely felt a thing.  He frowned, reached up with his other hand, and pinched the skin closed, watching the seam redden, and bloom, and flow over with stripes of blood. 

Yeah, okay.  It was beginning to hurt.

Castiel worried his lower lip, half out of habit and half to keep his mind on a more familiar pain.  He walked, quickly, out of the wood shop and into the main hallway of the building, looking around for someone.  Blood wound its way down his arm, dripped onto the linoleum at his feet.

“Shit, man, are you bleeding?” Castiel turned his head toward the noise, the movement making him dizzy and nauseous.  He just nodded at the other student, who then promptly ran to the nearest studio to grab a professor.

Soon Castiel was being ushered to a small table near the common area and exit doorway, the ceramics professor on her cell about an ambulance.  Apparently no one wanted to drive him to the hospital, get blood on their seats.  Castiel paid her little attention, staring at the now heavily bleeding wound, trying to keep the gash closed with his now pale and trembling fingers. 

He couldn’t really move the fingers on his injured hand, and that made him panic.

Castiel wasn’t sure if it was the blood loss or just the fact that the shock was wearing off, but when the ceramics professor turned to look at him, he felt his eyes starting to burn with tears.

“Is there anyone we can call for you?” 

“Dean.  C-call Dean, please,” Castiel said, shivering now like it was below freezing.

“Can you give me his number?”

“Oh,” Castiel said, grinding his teeth together to try to keep his jaw from twitching.  He could feel tears tracking lines down his cheeks as wave of vertigo hit him.  “My cell, in my jacket p-pocket,” he said, closing his eyes for a second against the spinning room.

The professor reached over him, a steadying hand on his shoulder as she fumbled around for his cell.  Once it was in her hand, she flipped through it for a couple seconds before pressing it to her ear.  Castiel blinked away the tears in his eyes.  He wasn’t particularly sad, but he was angry, and overwhelmed, and he felt like he was going to pass out.

Castiel bit and pulled at the skin of his lip until he tasted blood, which seemed laughably superfluous in this situation.  He was already shaking with blood loss.

Someone else came to kneel at his side, took his injured hand in theirs.

“You need to let go, I’m gunna wrap it up,” he said.  Castiel turned to look down at the school’s security guard.

“I can’t… it’s bleeding,” Castiel answered, because that made sense.  He had to hold it closed.

“Yeah that’s why I need to wrap it up,” he replied.  Castiel blinked at him, and slowly let go, his fingers twitching and pain shooting up his arm.  While the officer started to wrap his hand in thick, white gauze, Castiel focused on his professor, talking on the phone with Dean, presumably, at the other end.

“We’ve already called him an ambulance,” she paused, “No, no, he’s –“ she frowned, running a hand through her hair.  “Castiel is fine he just… yes.  Yes, alright, I’ll text you the address to the hospital, do you have a ride?” She paused again, her eyes going soft.  “I understand.  He’ll be okay.  You’ll be able to meet him in the emergency room.”  She started to walk over to Castiel, nodding against the receiver.  “Yeah you can talk to him, here he is,” she said before pressing the phone against Castiel’s ear.

“Cas, you there?” Dean asked, his voice hard like he was trying not to yell.

“Y-yeah I had an-n accident, I’m okay,” Castiel stuttered, trying very hard not to shiver too violently.  He felt really cold.  The officer was now elevating his hand above his heart, looking toward the doorway expectantly.

“I’m on my way, okay?  I had to get someone to cover me at the shop but I shouldn’t be too far behind you.”

“I d-didn’t know who else t-to call,” Castiel mumbled, shutting his eyes momentarily against the threat of more tears.

“Yeah… I know,” Dean told him, his tone soft and clipped.

Castiel looked toward the doorway to see a big white ambulance pull up outside.  There was a gentle press of a hand on his shoulder telling him it was time to walk.

“I have to go,” Castiel said softly, looking over at his professor who was still holding up the phone for him because his free hand was sticky with blood.

“Yeah.  I’ll be there soon,” Dean said before hanging up.

Castiel stood up and walked.

\--

The hospital didn’t even have an open room for him, so they just seated him in the middle of a hallway on an uncomfortable, pale green reclining hospital chair.  Castiel stared down at his mangled hand, wrapped up in enough gauze that it resembled a snowball, which made him grin stupidly.  They had pumped him full of some painkillers in the ambulance.

Nice of them.

“Cas?”

Castiel turned his head toward his voice.  Dean was staring down at him, a muted sort of frustration playing across his features.  Castiel wanted to push himself out of the chair and wrap his arms around him, but he didn’t think it would be the best idea, considering.

“You look like shit,” Dean said before he knelt down in front of him, eye level, reaching out to run his fingers carefully through Castiel’s dark hair, messy and sticking with sweat against his forehead.  Then, Dean started to pull back, hesitating, like he wanted to renege on the touch, but Castiel stopped him.  He took his uninjured hand and pressed it over Dean’s, ran his thumb over Dean’s thick knuckles.  Dean frowned, but he kept touching him.  “The hell happened?”

“Kickback from the table saw, my hand was too close to the blade when it happened,” Castiel said, frowning and pulling his bottom lip between his teeth.  Dean run a thumb across his chin, then the edge of his mouth.  Castiel coughed out a humorless laugh, freeing his lip.  “I was reckless.”

“Yeah, you were,” Dean said, a slight growl in his tone even as his eyes softened. 

Dean stared at his mouth, his thumb swiping one more time across the reddened, split skin of his lower lip before sliding his hand into place against his cheek.  His thumb brushed gently over the swell of his cheekbone.

“I don’t want stitches.  I hate needles,” Castiel groused, tipping his head lazily to the side as Dean rolled his eyes, taking the bait and trailing his hand down to rest against Castiel’s neck.  Dean began to gently knead the skin beneath his fingers, Castiel shivering happily and breathing him in. He’d missed the way Dean smelled, like leather and coffee, and soap, and so much better than the starched, antiseptic smell of the hospital.

“I didn’t hear much complaint in the shop on the subject,” Dean grinned, looking down toward the spot where the tattoo he’d given Castiel was knit into his skin.

“That’s different, Dean.  You weren’t exactly shoving the needle into an open wound,” Castiel frowned.  Dean gave him a strange look, half a smile and half uncertainty.

Leaning forward again, Dean’s soft lips brushed against his jaw, hand sliding back across Castiel’s cheek to wind into his hair.  Then, he felt Dean’s other hand come to rest against the nape of his neck, pulling him closer still, touch so sweet and careful he might drown in it.

“Can I kiss you?” Dean asked, quietly.  Castiel pulled back and stared at him, questioning, but Dean wouldn’t meet his eyes.  Reaching out, Castiel tangled his uninjured hand in the collar of Dean’s shirt and pulled him forward, kissing him hard. He tried to put everything he had into it, reassuring him that this was still something Dean had permission to take.  That he’d always have permission to take.  Dean kissed him back, without a lot of heat, soft and uneasy in a way that made Castiel want to hold him closer.

“Dean –” Castiel started before he heard someone clear their throat to his left.  Dean backed away from him, his hands dropping, leaving his skin chilled and empty.  Castiel looked toward the noise and saw a doctor holding a platter of medical supplies.  Needles, and cotton swabs, and a syringe that made Castiel feel nauseous again.

“Alright, Mister Novak, time to get you stitched up,” the doctor said, in a manner that told Castiel that his case was barely a blip on this man’s radar.

It wasn’t as bad as Castiel expected.  He only cussed out the doctor twice, and that was only because he'd shoved a syringe filled with numbing medication in and out of the gaping wound in his palm a wildly unnecessary amount of times.  Castiel was already agitated by the entire event.  It wouldn’t have killed him to be more efficient about his torture. 

Dean held his other hand, though.  That was okay.

\--

Castiel felt Dean press up against his back, chest bare and breath hot across the small hairs that curled up behind his ear.  Their legs twined together beneath thin, soft sheets.  Castiel closed his eyes and reached back to grab Dean’s hand, pulling it around his waist.

“Feelin’ better?” Dean asked.  Castiel sighed as he felt Dean’s hand run up and down his body, over his hip, fingertips brushing the solid lines of muscle on his stomach.  Dean’s other arm was trapped beneath Castiel’s body, outstretched and palm up to cradle Castiel’s injured hand.  Castiel shivered beneath the attention, small sparks of simple, happy, pleasure leaking the tension out of his muscles.

“Feel gooood,” Castiel grinned, pulling his knees toward his chest, blankets bunching up at his waist.  Dean shuddered with laughter.

“Yeah, that’ll be the vicoden.”

“Is that what you’re calling yourself these days?” Castiel said, eyebrow cocked as he turned his head lazily to try and look at Dean over his shoulder.  He caught small wisps of brown hair, but not much else.

“Cas, are you _flirting_ with me?” Dean asked, leaning in to kiss his ear.

“Trying, anyway,” Castiel said, trying to nudge Dean’s face in hopes of more kisses.  “Is it working?”

“You could talk about fuckin’ knitting patterns for an hour and I’d still want you just as bad,” Dean murmured into his hair.  Castiel tucked himself more firmly against Dean, his heart fluttering wildly.  “So yeah, it’s working.”

Castiel reached behind him to place a hand on Dean’s hip, running his palm along the soft cotton of his briefs to the warm skin of his thigh.  Dean moved into it, a lazy roll of his hips while Castiel slowly mapped him out.  Dean held him tighter, his nose and lips pressed up against the back of his neck, kissing him gently.  Castiel shivered.

“Christ you scared me today,” Dean said, burying his face between Castiel’s shoulder blades.  His fingers ghosted down the center of his stomach, toward the small patch of dark hair that trailed down under the waistband of his briefs.  “Don’t hear from you for two weeks, finally get a fucking call, and it’s some chick I don’t know telling me their callin’ you a fucking ambulance.”

Castiel’s heart dropped to his stomach.

“It’s been two weeks,” Castiel said slowly, his voice a little ragged.  “I didn’t even realize.”

“Shit.  Didn’t know if you were pissed at me or just busy.  Or you’d just… I dunno,  lost interest?” Dean’s voice was small, mouth still pressed against his skin.

Castiel bit his lip and pulled himself away from Dean, slowly turning so he was facing him, feeling a little lightheaded from the effort.  He rested his injured hand on Dean’s side, tracing his tattoo with stiff fingers. 

Dean’s arms wrapped around him, and Castiel knew he’d never give this up willingly.

“It’s hard for me,” Castiel started, pressing their noses together so he could feel Dean breathing against his lips. Dean leaned in to nip at his mouth like he couldn’t handle being so close and not touching.  “I gave up so much to be here.  I gave up my family’s support, and all hope of financial support, and if I don’t do well… if I don’t put everything I have into this, then it’s a waste.”

“You were in the studio on Christmas Eve, Cas, I doubt anyone is questioning your commitment at this point,” Dean said, running his fingers slowly through Castiel’s hair.   “I just, I love… you know, making art with you, it’s the best goddamn feeling in the world, and I love you coming to see the shop, but you’re working when you're there, too.”  Dean leaned in and kissed him, a gentle pull at his bottom lip that made Castiel whimper.

“I want this,” Dean said, the need in his tone laid bare.  “I just want you next to me, sometimes.  In my bed or… on the couch watchin’ tv.  I wanna make you breakfast.  I want you to stick around long enough for lunch.  And I’m… fucking terrified you don’t want that, but at this point I’m taking what I can get.  And I’ve never felt like that before.”

Castiel didn’t know what to say besides, “Dean,” and, “I’m sorry.” 

He kissed him, a heated, needy push of lips, his injured hand tensing up when he tried to grip at his skin.  He hated the idea of not being able to paint while it healed but it infuriated him that he couldn’t hold Dean properly, because right then it was all that mattered.

“S’ok,” Dean said, between kisses, pulling him closer until every inch of them was touching, every breath and shudder magnified, skin to skin.  Reaching up to cup his face, Dean tipped his head slowly back as he mouthed his way down Castiel’s throat.  Dean’s breath was shallow against his pulse, teeth latching around the skin between soft, open mouthed kisses. 

“Cas,” Dean said, pressing his mouth against the forming bruise, “Lay on your back, I wanna try somethin’.”

Castiel found it difficult to pull away from Dean, his chest tight and his breathing uneven, everything in him begging to hold on with everything he had.  Dean pushed him.  Gently.  He pulled his arm out from under him as Castiel rested against the soft mattress, staring up, wide eyed and panting softly.  He caught a glimpse of the small tattoo that wound from the back of Dean’s neck down between his shoulder blades, a woman in white surrounded by an ocean of blues and purples that tapered out at the edges like the tide on a beach.

“You’re beautiful,” Castiel said, meaning it, reaching out with his good hand as Dean knelt between his legs. Dean placed a hand on either thigh, kneading the skin.  Castiel touched the tattoo on his waist, traced the lines down below his naval, watching as Dean’s chest rose and fell in shaking breaths. 

He loved this, beautiful, undone Dean staring down at him like he was holy.

Every muscle in Castiel’s body tightened, Dean running his palms up and down his thighs, thumbs breaching the hem of his briefs and brushing at the heat between his legs.  Teasing, making him need it more.  Need all of it, every inch, every breath.

Dean curled his fingers around Castiel’s waistband and pulled his briefs off, tossing them on the floor.  Heat pooled is Castiel’s gut, cock half hard against his stomach as Dean bowed over to lick a stripe from base to tip.  Castiel groaned, ran his hand through Dean’s short hair.

Shuddering, Dean wrapped his hands around Castiel's hips, moving until he could touch his mouth to Castiel's stomach, his teeth dragging along the tattoo he’d given him.  Wisps of dark line mapped out with tongue, a kiss in the center.  “God,” Dean murmured, “You're so fucking perfect, fucking gorgeous.”

Castiel held his breath, running fingers through Dean's hair. 

After long minutes of kisses and praises whispered against his naval, his hip bones, his thighs, Dean finally pulled back, his eyes lidded and blown black, his own erection straining his briefs.  He latched his arms up under Castiel’s knees, movement almost clumsily fevered, and pulled him up until Castiel’s knees pressed against his chest, ass exposed and legs spread.  He gripped at the sheets, his heart fluttering with excitement.

Leaning in, Dean whispered something unintelligible against his skin before he closed his soft lips over his balls, tongue working until Castiel cock was hard and beading precome against his stomach.  Castiel panted and gripped at the bed sheets, his mind blanking with pleasure and heat. 

Too soon he let up, and Castiel groaned his displeasure, but Dean soothed the skin of his trembling thighs under his fingers, pressing hot, open mouthed kisses down his perineum.

_Oh fuck._

Castiel barely had time to react before he felt something hot and wet press between his cheeks, caressing the skin delicately, swiping over the taut ring of muscle and nerves.  He circled his hole with his tongue, Castiel's breathing ragged, uninjured hand bunched up in the sheets so tight it almost hurt.  Castiel's vision went white when Dean pressed harder, his tongue working very slowly into him, his hands gripping Castiel, shaking and barely holding his legs spread.

Castiel was undone, writhing and panting like he’d never been touched before.  He didn't know it could feel this good, Dean dipping his tongue in deeper, pulling at the muscle as Castiel tried to relax.

His mind was a mess of pleasure and need, Dean’s name working his way between shocks of ecstacy as his tongue fucked him harder, worked him open.   Castiel reached up to lace his fingers with Dean’s, both hands pressed hard against his leg to keep him spread, grip vice-like as Dean worked his way in, loosening him, any pain from the stretch  gone in heady bliss.  It got caught up in his moans, how much he needed this, how much he craved this, Dean and the way he touched him, the way sometimes he just gave him _everything_.

“Dean,” Castiel rasped, “Please, need you in me.”  Castiel felt Dean’s hand tighten, his tongue deep inside him, spit trailing down the cleft of his ass to cool in the open air.  Then he pulled out, slowly, kissing him there before lowering his legs back onto the bed. 

He reached over and grabbed a bottle of lube from the bedside table, slicked himself up, and two fingers, which he pressed inside Castiel to insure he was ready and open.  Castiel warmed under the gesture, still foggy with lust.  Despite how desperate Dean was, he always took his time.  It never hurt with Dean.

Dean kissed him when he pressed in, along his jaw before finding his mouth. The taste of himself on Dean's lips more than a little overwhelming. It made him feel whole, though, Dean wrapping his arms around his waist as he pressed deeper. He didn't shy away, he just took it along with everything else Dean was offering. Happily, greedily.

He started slow, angling his hips and sending shocks of pleasure through Castiel with each thrust.  It tore him apart, when Dean was slow and careful.  He could be so gentle, even with callouses on his hands, that hard, faraway look he seemed to get when he talked about his father.  He took the time to kiss his neck, to hold him, build that pleasure from the ground up like they had all the time in the world to just be this. 

And maybe they did. 

Castiel wound his arms around Dean’s shoulders, his injured hand aching slightly at the movement. 

“Need you to stay with me,” Dean said, his voice broken, fucking into him harder, his movements erratic, on the edge.  “Please, stay.”

Castiel near whimpered into his skin, feeling the sweat between their chests, bucking his hips up to chase the heat and pleasure that kept building in him, like wildfire.  Every stuttered thrust of Dean’s hips like a confession that wracked his body, took him apart, every kiss knitting him back together. 

Dean gripped at him, coming with hushed sounds, breath ragged against each other’s cheeks, fingers pressing crescent shapes into each other’s slick skin.  Castiel caught his name between Dean’s lips, rolling up to help wring the last of Dean’s pleasure from him.  Dean was shaking with it, sliding out carefully before wrapping a fist around Castiel’s cock.  Come dripped out between his thighs, Dean stroking him until he was panting and whimpering, fucking up into Dean’s hand, desperate for release.

He came hard, like a roll of thunder through his body, Dean working him through it, pulling back to lick the warm come from his stomach and, to his surprise down to lick up the mess that wound down his still shaking legs.

“I don’t think I deserve you,” Castiel said, pulling Dean back up to lie on his chest.  He pressed a soft kiss into his hair, and closed his eyes, feeling the weight of affection.  It made it hard to breathe.

“You have me,” was all Dean said in response. 

\--

Castiel stood in the middle of the kitchen, Dean’s sweat pants falling low on his hips.  He stared at his injured hand, tried to make a fist, but pain shot up his arm and he stopped.  He frowned, biting his lip and trying not to feel overwhelmed by the loss.  It would get better.  This wasn’t forever.

“Hey,” he heard Dean’s voice behind him, felt arms wrap around his waist, a kiss pressed to the back of his neck.  “Talk to me.”

“I feel useless without this, without being able to make something,” he said quietly, his tone agitated.  “I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“I was thinking,” Dean said, letting go of Castiel’s waist in favor of trailing his fingers down over Castiel’s shoulder blades.  “You can say no, but we’ve finally got time and I figure why the hell not now.”  His fingers ghosted shapes across his skin, down his spine, over his shoulders.  “I wanna give you wings, Cas.”

Castiel turned to face him, then, Dean’s hands falling away.  His expression was completely serious, and Castiel didn’t even have to think about it.  He leaned in and kissed him, cupped Dean’s face in his uninjured hand.

“Yes, let’s do it.”

\--

Dean mapped out the drawing on his back. 

They sat in the living room, Johnny Cash crooning low and heavy on Dean’s vintage record player.  Castiel sat cross legged in front of Dean, who had a large sketchbook propped up on his lap, taking turns between sketching out the wings and tracing patterns over Castiel’s skin with his fingers.

Castiel liked the quiet between them.  It was easy.

Dean moved forward, a leg on either side of Castiel, his chest pressed against his back as he propped his chin on Castiel’s shoulder.  He moved the sketchbook around so it was in Castiel’s lap, Dean’s fingers gliding over the lines as he presented his work.  He could feel Dean smiling against his cheek.

“I’m envious of you,” Castiel said, cocking his head to the side and covering Dean’s hand with his own, his fingers pressed to the page.  “I’m in awe of you.”

Dean didn’t say anything as he set the sketchpad to the side, kissing Castiel’s neck and unbuttoning his jeans with steady hands.

They kissed each other on the floor of the living room until they were drunk with it, until Dean pressed into him, Castiel on his knees, head leaning back against Dean’s shoulder.  Dean held him the entire time, kissed him across his shoulders where he’d ink in his wings.

They stole this space for themselves; they let it all fall freely.

\--

Castiel went back to class, did what he could with his left hand.  It wasn’t much, he spent a lot of time creating palettes of color and setting them aside in plastic containers so the paint wouldn’t dry out. 

He went to the tattoo shop every night, lay down on his stomach on a cushioned table, Dean carefully inking wings into his skin, complex but loose line that folded over his shoulders and arms and met in the center of his back.  The longest of the feathers touched at the base of his spine. 

Dean was working on a spot over his left shoulder blade, the right wing already complete, the newer areas still bandaged and taped over while it healed. 

“This is so uncomfortable,” Castiel said, shuddering when Dean’s needle pressed over the thinnest patch of skin, nothing to cushion the vibration against his bone.

He heard Dean laugh and ease up on the spot, reaching over to grab a square of cotton, wiping at the skin tenderly before continuing.  “Let me finish this section and we can call it a night.  I don’t want to have to do this part in more than one sitting because the skin’ll be raw and that’ll make it worse.”  After a couple more agonizing minutes, Dean pulled back and Castiel felt him press a kiss against his bare hip.  “Worst is over.”

“I have another cast I want to do,” Castiel said, trying to take his mind off of the discomfort.  “I can find someone else for this if you would prefer, a lot of people don’t like it.”

“What, you finally taking me up on that plaster dick offer?” Dean laughed.

“No, and stop asking,” Castiel deadpanned.  “I need a cast of your head.  I’ve never had it done but I know it’s very claustrophobic.  All I would leave uncovered is the base of your nose so you could breathe.”

Dean was quiet for a moment, the air still except for the buzzing of the tattoo gun in his hands.  “Yeah,” he finally answered.  “'Course I will.”

\--

Dean finished the tattoo the same day Castiel got his stitches out.

Castiel stood with his back to a full length mirror, Dean holding another up so he could see it in its entirety.  It was gorgeous, shaded in with curving lines, nothing but black on skin, but intricate.  So much more than the drawing had been on paper.  Castiel stared at it, his eyes wide, chewing his bottom lip between his teeth until Dean reached down to touch his chin.

“We good?” he asked, smiling as his eyes roved over Castiel’s face like it was the first time he’d ever seen him.

“It’s perfect,” Castiel whispered.  He stared at it a few more seconds before he started to speak again, images of painted angels flashing in his mind.

“My parents were religious, fundamentalists at the very core.  We went to church every Sunday, and honestly?”  Castiel took a deep breath.  “That was where I learned to love art.  The stained glass windows and paintings hung on the walls, extravagant in a way that only Catholic churches can be.  It was holy, and pure, and I felt something.  I did believe in that.”

Dean stared at him, ran his fingers soothingly across Castiel’s cheek.

“They never liked me going to art school, said it was a waste of my potential, that I’d never be able to provide for a family.   It was my first rebellion.  It was the first thing I did that wasn’t for them.”  Castiel sighed and leaned into Dean’s hand, taking his warmth and his presence.  “And I was gay, which I hid until college.” 

Castiel smiled up at him, and Dean stared back, concern flashing in his eyes.  “I got here, and no one cared.  And I realized that I was done pretending.  I didn’t hate who I was anymore.”  Castiel reached up and covered Dean’s hand with his own.  “ _They_ still do.”

“Fuck them,” Dean said, a controlled sort of anger.  He set the mirror he’d been holding on the counter beside him and ran a hand down across Castiel’s hip.  “You’re so goddamn passionate and driven, and careful with people like you’re afraid they’re gunna walk out on you.  I know… I feel that.  When I talk you listen like it means something to you.  You look at me like I’m... important.  You always have.  It’s the reason I liked you so much, maybe the reason I took such a long time to do something about it." He swiped his finger across his skin again, taking a breath. "You’re so much more, and they’re unwilling to see that because they’re set in their goddamn ways.”  Dean leaned in and kissed him, a hand at the base of his spine just under the new tattoo. 

“Don’t kill yourself waiting around for them to notice, because you deserved better,” Dean finished, a strange, worried look in his eyes. “You’re beautiful, Cas.”

 Castiel kissed him, then, pulled him close by the collar of his shirt, Dean holding him like he was afraid he might slip away.

\--

Castiel smoothed the plaster bandage over his cheek, watching Dean smirk up at him, his hand under Castiel’s shirt, thumb pressed against his hipbone.  His head was covered in a swim cap to protect his hair, his face and neck covered in Vaseline. 

He was shiny, but still beautiful.

The back half of the cast was already finished, Dean’s head and neck stiff as Castiel worked on the front, stripes over his cheeks and forehead. 

“I need you to keep your mouth closed,” Castiel said, finishing up the plaster on his chin.  Dean just looked up with him with those beautiful, wide green eyes, his thumb moving against Castiel’s skin, but otherwise still.  Castiel took a wide plaster bandage and placed it over his lips, taking his time to trace the shape, a cupid’s bow and seam he wanted to lick open.  He brushed his thumb over his lower lip, down to his chin.  Dean’s hand tightened at his waist.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said, adding another bandage around his mouth.  “For ever giving you the impression that I don’t want you as much as you want me.”

Dean tensed, his eyes still open and staring up at him.  Castiel ran a thumb over the plaster on his cheek, reaching down to take another bandage, wet it, and set it across the bridge of his nose.

“I’ve never been good at this, I get caught up in my own goals, my own work.  I do what I need to do… for me, because it’s fulfilling and it’s important, and it’s a part of who I am.  But, so are you.”  Castiel stared down at Dean, smiling a little as he finished the spot he was working on.  Dean pulled his hand away from his hip and wrapped it around Castiel’s wrist, thumb swiping over the heel of his palm.  “I need you to close your eyes for me.”

Dean hesitated a moment before he did so, and Castiel dipped two strips of plaster in the water, placing one over each eye, delicately.

“I don’t know why I didn’t say it.  I’ve never said it to anyone, I’m not even sure when it happened.  At some point I fell in love with you, completely and wholly in love.”  Dean’s hand dropped from his wrist, reaching blindly forward to touch his shirt, pull him closer.  Castiel just kept adding more plaster, running his thumbs over the swell of Dean’s cheekbones.  “I think of myself back in my old church, in awe of everything around me, encapsulated with it, buried beneath it.  Made whole by it.  And I feel that way with you.”

Dean took a deep breath, ran the back of his hand over Castiel’s stomach.

“You’re brash, and gentle.  And you love with every part of yourself like you can’t help it, and you wish you could.  But it’s the best part of you.” Castiel smoothed the last of the plaster, letting his hands fall away to touch Dean’s hand.  Dean took it like a lifeline, even slippery with water and plaster.

“You’re crude, and creative, and you make beautiful things with your hands.  I’ve met so many people who try so hard to do what you do so easily, like it’s just an extension of yourself.  And sometimes I think you don’t see it, and that confounds me.”  Castiel sighed, placing a free hand over Dean’s heart, his dirtied, plain white tee taking the print of his hand.

 “I love you, Dean Winchester,” Castiel said, softly.

\--

When the plaster cast came off, Dean was staring at him.  Castiel tried not to meet his eyes, thumbing off the swim cap and reaching to grab a damp towel to get the excess plaster and Vaseline from his skin. 

“That’s not fair,” Dean finally said, Castiel placing aside the towel, bits of plaster still stuck to his eyebrows and at his hairline.  “You can’t say shit like that to me when I can’t talk back.”  Castiel stared down at him, trying to read his expression, but Dean was controlled except for his eyes, which looked him over almost frantically. 

Castiel almost apologized before Dean reached out and grabbed his waist. 

“Say it again.”

“I love you,” Castiel said, without hesitation.

“Yeah,” Dean choked, “Yeah, okay.”

Dean stood up, pulled him forward, and kissed him hard, arms winding around his back, hands pressed against the almost healed tattoo across his shoulder blades.  Castiel didn’t mind the slight pain, it was dull, Dean’s hands warm against his skin and leaving traces of plaster on his shirt.  He didn’t care, he just wanted him closer.

Always closer.

“I want you, I want you to fuck me, Cas,” Dean sighed against his skin, hands working their way under his shirt, already trying to push it up.  “Need you.”

“Here?” Castiel asked, kissing him again because he couldn’t stop.

“Yeah, fuck yeah,” Dean said.  “Please.”

There was nothing in him that could refuse Dean.

Castiel grabbed the Vaseline as he backed them up into the corner of the room, a small cut off area with another table, a curtain that could be drawn around it for privacy.  Castiel fumbled with it as Dean undressed him, undoing his belt and leaning down to mouth at his cock through his briefs.

“Fuck, Dean, hold on,” Castiel gasped, finally getting it closed and turning toward Dean.  Castiel wasted no time ridding him of his plaster covered white shirt, his pants and boxers, Castiel still standing there with his shirt off and his pants open and sagging against his hips.  “Have you done this before?”

“What?  No, fuck, who cares.  I want to,” Dean said, kissing Castiel’s neck before he sat up on the table, spreading his legs as Castiel moved to stand between them.  Then, Dean seemed to take a breath, calming himself as he reached out to cup Castiel’s face in his hands, kissed him slowly and sweetly as his tongue darted out to wet his lips.  “It’s you, Cas.  It’s okay.”

“Okay,” Castiel murmured.

He took his time, slicking three fingers up before he pressed the first one in, Dean tense and tight, arms around his shoulders.

“Relax,” Castiel soothed, “Just calm down, it’ll feel good.  I’ll make it good.”

“I know,” Dean grunted, kissing his cheek and making a concentrated effort to relax his muscles.  "You'll take care of me." Dean grinned, breathing shallow.  Castiel smiled and kissed him, pulling very slightly at the taut muscle.

Castiel worked him carefully, Dean’s small sounds of discomfort turning slowly to sounds of ragged pleasure.  Castiel eventually moved in a second finger, sliding in almost easily, a small, desperate whimper of surprise.  Dean was trembling by the time Castiel started scissoring his fingers, spreading him open, as careful about it as he could possibly be. 

When he pressed a third finger in, Dean stopped breathing for a moment. He was so tight and wet, clenching around him hot and perfect while Castiel whispered praises against his skin.

“Cas, please, fuck - I can’t wait anymore,” Dean said, voice in tatters, pulling Castiel down until they were both pressed against the desk, Castiel still fucking him open with his fingers.  Castiel twisted them, rubbed until Dean tensed, mouth falling open.  He hit the spot again, and Dean groaned.  “Son of a bitch, ah - fuck, fuck me. Right the fuck now.  I swear to - fuck - I'll kill you if you don’t.” 

Castiel grinned and kissed him, sliding his fingers out, Dean whimpering at the loss.  Dean reached down between them and pulled at Castiel’s waistband, freeing his cock and giving it a few generous strokes.  Castiel shivered, leaning down and latching his teeth against Dean’s neck. 

He slicked himself up with shaking fingers, and then lined up, Dean breathing hard now and gripping at his biceps, looking up at Castiel, unflinching. 

“Relax,” Castiel said, kissing him and pressing in, so slowly it drove him crazy.  It took every ounce of strength he had to be careful, to stay in control of himself, because this was Dean.  He was in Dean.  He leaned over and wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist as he bottomed out, his mouth pressed against his collar bone.  He felt himself trembling, half out of pleasure and half from being so overwhelmed, by Dean, by the way he felt.

“You okay?” Dean asked, running a hand through his hair. 

“Yeah,” Castiel choked out, pulling back a little and giving him a shallow thrust.  “God, yes.”

“You’re shaking,” Dean pressed.

“I love you so much,” Castiel said, holding him tighter, trying a slow rhythm, the pleasure making him dizzy.  Dean groaned, wrapped his arms around him and angled his hips up to meet Castiel.  "I can't," he breathed, rocking into him again, a shiver up his spine.  "Dean..."

"I got you," Dean said quietly, holding him close and closing a kiss over his pulse.  "So good, fuck, you feel so fucking good."  Castiel fell into it, let himself fuck harder, Dean shuddering and kissing him and cursing every time Castiel hit that sweet spot, hips snapping forward as they clutched at one another, sweat beading from their heated skin. 

It didn’t take long to bring him to the edge, Dean biting and sucking bruises into his neck, hips rolling up to meet him at every thrust.

“So close, Dean,” Castiel breathed, his legs feeling weak as he pushed himself up, wrapping a slicked hand around Dean’s cock.  Dean’s mouth fell open, and Castiel drove into him, all pretenses at gentleness forgotten as he chased the pleasure, bringing Dean to the brink with him.

“So good, baby,” Dean gasped, "fuck yes, ah, fuck." Dean's whole body shook with a groan, pulling Castiel down to kiss him again, hand and cock and sweat trapped between their bodies, the kiss sloppy and fevered.

Castiel came suddenly, with a sob, a ragged moan, Dean tightening around him and spilling himself over his stomach.  Castiel worked him through it, a few more stuttered twitches of his hips before he fell forward, limp.  He laid kisses against Dean’s neck, Dean’s hand winding into his hair.  He felt foggy with bliss, a happy grin spread across his face.

“I love you, Cas,” Dean said after a few minutes, hugging him to his chest, lips pressed into his hair.

Castiel just smiled wider.

\--

Castiel walked hand in hand with Dean, past crowded bars and groups of college kids smoking under the awning of a coffee shop, live music playing inside.  Dean was quiet, but relaxed, pressed in close.  When, after a long while, they stopped in front of Castiel's dorm, Dean looked over at him strangely.

"It's late," Dean said, eyes flickering down to the bruise Castiel could feel throbbing in his neck.  It was a pleasant burn.  "You wanna head up?"

"What about you?" Castiel asked, leaning forward very slightly.  "Are you going home?"  Dean gave him a breathy laugh, reaching out to run his hand through his hair.  

"I gotta open in the morning," Dean smiled, pulling Castiel's face close to his own, pressing a kiss to the side of his nose.  "Besides you'll want to get to the studio early to make up for lost time, right?"

Castiel considered it a moment, taking the pause to nose at Dean's warm cheek.

"I think... I'd like to come home with you," Castiel said quietly.  "If that's okay.  And then tomorrow I could work on the painting outside the shop.  I've been neglecting it."

Dean's eyes widened, a small but brilliant smile.  

"You sure?"

Castiel smiled back, nodding before he kissed him, squeezing his hand tight.

"Yeah, alright," Dean sighed between kisses.  "Okay.  Guess I could live with that.  You gotta let me make you breakfast, though.  Blueberry pancakes, bacon, and coffee."

"Deal."

They walked back to the car together, arm in arm.


End file.
